


Cookies and Milk

by helena_s_renn



Category: Iron Maiden (Band), Music RPF
Genre: F/M, Het, Lactation, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Prompt fill for nurse/patient... with a twist.What sort of professional beyond a paediatric nurse wore baby pink scrubs?





	Cookies and Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a late Ficmas 2018 gift on Rockfic.
> 
> Apparently Mr. Murray has a proclivity for skinny, big-breasted, fair-skinned blondes. Apologies for the *cough* focus.
> 
> Tamar is Dave's RL wife, and the recipient writes about her, too. No offense intended!
> 
> Beta and much more by ChristianHowe. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Being sick... sucked.

Being sick on the road sucked worse.

Not that there was much need for background vocals, but he had to leave them to Adrian. Not with his raw throat and the amounts of viscous goo he had to keep trotting into the side-stage to clear from his nose. Definitely not the fun kind of goo. He was too out of it to wink at the pretty birds and their lovely pushed-up cleavages in the first few rows. Unimaginable. 

Dave dragged his exhausted arse back to the hotel, not interested in the afterparty, getting his buzz on, nor the usual wanna-be groupies trying to get in his pants. These days, he didn't let them. He wished, but he was getting too old and too married for that sort of thing. All he wanted was a hot shower, a wank, and sleep.

He had stripped down, taken his shower, and slipped into one of the hotel-issue waffle-weave robes. The hot water and steam had helped to clear out his sinuses somewhat, but also served to make him even more heavy-feeling and somnolent. He was on the way to bed, towelling his hair, when a brisk knock sounded on his door. Who...? His bandmates knew to leave his grumpy butt alone when he was under the weather. Tamar, being a germ-a-phobe, bless her, wouldn't have flown out unless he was dying and properly ensconced in the isolation wing of a high-tech medical centre, everything sealed up nice and tidy in plastic and latex. He hadn't ordered room service. Maybe their long-suffering tour manager had sent up some soup. Or a bottle.

Huffing a bit, thanks to his still-diminished breathing capacity, Dave went to answer. He knew better than not to check who it was, first. A woman stood there, looking directly into the pinhole peephole. She was just his type: a tall, skinny, full-lipped blonde with big round tits under her... was that a uniform? What sort of professional beyond a paediatric nurse wore baby pink scrubs? She wasn't carrying food or drink that he could see; some sort of carry-all with a cross-body strap drew even more attention to her boobs. A masseuse, perhaps? The two-hour live gig and all-over body aches from being sick made that sound delicious.

After a fair perusal of the fine-looking woman just waiting to service him in some manner of speaking - that sounded so naughty! - Dave opened the door. The woman did a double-take, real or fake, he wasn't convinced, and looked him up and down, all business.

"Yes?" he prompted. Lovely image he must make: drowned rat. Make that, old, chubby, stuffed-up drowned rat.

"Good evening. My name's Nurse Wendy and I'm here to take care of you." The woman smiled, showing a mouthful of typical American artificially-straightened and -whitened teeth. Dave wanted to offer any body part, well, minus a few, for her biting pleasure.

As drops fell from the ends of his wet hair to the carpet, Dave couldn't be sure if this was real, a prank, or some mental case of a fan. Stranger things had happened. And, Nurse? She was wearing her hair down; it was long, at least to mid-back as far as he could tell, and that cut had probably cost at least two hundred bucks. Same for the tiny gold hoops in her earlobes. No need to be rude, though. "So, er, Nurse Wendy, who sent you? Do you have a card or something?" That would at least help determine whether she was legit, if not entirely legal; he was more than aware it could be that, too.

"Yes, of course." She produced a business card from the outside flap pocket of her carry-all bag and held it out. Dave squinted to read the tiny print.

Wendy Jones, MA, LMT  
Massage Therapy and Lactation Arts

Arts? Belatedly, she informed him, "I've had the pleasure of meeting another of your, uh, outfit. However, he wishes to remain anonymous."

"Anonymous?" parroted Dave.

She smiled. "May I come in? I have it on good authority that you like cookies. Um, that's biscuits to you. There's some nice home-made chocolate chip cookies right here," Wendy patted her bag lovingly, "just for you."

It was the 'home-made' part that did it. More than the cookies part or even the chocolate chip part - and Dave did love sweets - he loved to be spoiled and the thought of someone baking something from scratch just for him was even more tempting than the scrumptious breasts he could barely keep his eyes off of. "Do come in, luv," he finally managed a bit of rock star cool, however long in the past it might belong.

Wendy's pupils jumped three sizes, a bit like the Grinch and his heart. Oh bloody hell, she had blue eyes. Almost aqua. He was a sucker for blue eyes on a woman. Maybe because his were blue, or because it gave an air of innocence, however dubious of activities they might be involved in. Also, it was impossible to mistake such a woman for his wife. As years went by, Dave's spank bank had grown to ridiculous proportions while his dalliances had dwindled to the point he'd become - mostly - monogamous. So ironic.

This could very well be his last one-night stand ever. How considerate the gift-giver knew - and had sent - the sort of woman that would get him going. As Wendy brushed past him, her chest pushing for a split second against his, Dave smiled, feeling something lower beginning to grow.

"It appears I interrupted you. I hope you were all finished with your shower. Did you want to have a snack first, or get ready for bed first?" Wendy queried, almost like she was his mother, which gave Dave's nether regions another jolt. Not his mum of course, just your average Mummy-hooker here to tend to little Davey's every need. She drew strap of the bag over her head and shook out her flowing hair. As she turned around, he glimpsed her silhouette, which belonged on a neon sign at a Vegas sex club.

"Hm? Oh... right... shower. We, my band, had a gig tonight and it went very well but yeah, I've had this cold for days and so I was doubly sweaty and..." Dave gave a mental snort at his babbling. He was tired despite the renewed interest below, one might say, and the combination didn't exactly serve his brilliance. He gathered his remaining wits. "Make yourself at home and I'll be back out in a few minutes."

How did one tactfully say that he needed his evening constitutional and then to make himself presentable? At least comb his hair. Must be nerves. Why should he be nervous? He shouldn't care. Hell, if nurse was her shtick, she'd probably had to play with blokes who got off on having their nappies changed, but he did care. That wasn't him. Despite everything, he wanted this woman to find him somewhere in the realm of attractive, not just be paid to act like it. She certainly was fit. It was only fair.

Nodding, the 'nurse' replied, "Would you like me to help?"

"No thanks, luv." Dave blinked. His cheeks coloured slightly, more than could be explained by a low-grade fever. With that, he ducked back into the bathroom to take care of business, shaking his head. When he was an old - really old - fart and had real need for a private duty nurse, he could only hope that there would be a few choice young ladies left to jolly him around, wipe his chin and his arse and maybe an occasional hand job before he was too senile to remember what Viagra was.

When he returned, Wendy was perched on the end of the bed. "Would you like a cookie, um, biscuit now, honey?"

Dave decided to go along with it. "Yes, ma'am... Could I have some milk with my cookies?"

"You sure can! Baby, I'd like you to take a big, long drink before you go to sleep."

Smiling, Dave sat in the wingback chair in the corner, arranging his robe so he wouldn't be too obscene. Age had another effect: other than seconds from orgasm, his ballsack wasn't the neat and tight holder it once was. Meanwhile, Wendy approached and knelt at his feet, which made Dave raise his eyebrows. It had the added bonus that he had a glorious view of her cleavage. Good lord, what a masterpiece. Surely she'd let him see, let him feel, let him suck... he would pay her himself if whoever had arranged this little interlude hadn't forwarded sufficient funds.

Act or not, the woman did 'devoted' like she currently had no other purpose in life, gazing up at him in the perfect combination of admiration and... was that lust? "Here you are. Can I call you Davey? Like I said. Homemade." Four fat golden biscuits with shiny bits of baked-in milk chocolate stacked inside a see-through plastic box did indeed look good. "From earlier today," Wendy continued, offering the box. "I only wish they were still warm."

"You mean like the milk?" Dave winked. He tore off the plastic lid and bit off half of the first cookie. Delicious! His saliva glands spit out a flood and he happily chewed.

"MM-hm..." Maybe by chance, maybe by design, Dave happened to look down to see his nurse cupping her tits, giving them a squeeze. The visual and the close proximity had him interested, oh yes. She looked up at him and winked. His move! Then she tossed her mane so the long ends landed on his right leg for a moment before sliding off. Apricots, she smelled of apricots. And milk. Seriously? Milk. His dick twitched again, and oh yeah, it moved in his lap. Before the little head took over entirely, Dave attempted to rearrange the folds of the robe. Then he stuffed the rest of the cookie into his mouth. Mmm, chocolate!

"So, you have a cold, eh?" Wendy asked. "Rough, when you have to... perform. Want me to take your temperature?" She held up her pinkie and wiggled it. 

Dave nearly choked. It wasn't like he'd never tried... that. It went without saying, with his lifestyle, and by that he was referring to being in a band as well as the woman he'd married. His relatively innocent young bride gave better than she got; techniques people whispered about drunk in dark corners tended to be ones she wanted to try on him. Sometimes he let her. Hand jobs and blow jobs were for groupies. This sort of thing? Fucking hell. 

As soon as Dave swallowed the masticated pulp in his mouth, he asked, "You mentioned milk? Is it in your carry-all there?" That should distract her. So far, Wendy had made no move to produce a cup, thermos, or even a bottle. He coughed, twice, and sniffled. He really did want a drink of something warm.

So much for innocent, those blue eyes had turned decidedly wicked. "I think it would be best if we wait till you're finished with the cookies."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Dave helped himself to another. He could play along for a bit.

"Well..." the blonde deliberately fondled her boobs within his purview, "I want you to be very comfortable when you drink, if you get my meaning."

The cold and being tired must also be making him stupid, a feeling Dave didn't especially care for. This wasn't supposed to be part of the experience! He was missing something. "I think my mouth's getting dry..." Let her chew on that. Meanwhile, he chewed on his cookie.

"Oh dear! That won't make it very nice for either of us."

What? How could Dave's case of dry-mouth affect the nurse? He was quickly becoming much less interested in more cookies. "Well... let's skip the milk then and get to the good stuff, hm, luv?" Like a blow job and sleep, perhaps.

"Well Davey, I know you're probably not aware of such things but I'm on a schedule. If not adhered to, the supply will dry up. Your colleague assured me you'd be game." Now she seemed a bit desperate. Kind of like Dave when he'd been hard for hours or worse, couldn't get hard because he was in public and it would be totally inappropriate, with no end in sight.

What the hell was she on about? She was cupping her tits again. Suddenly it clicked. No wonder the hidden orbs were so high and round. Wendy was very attractive but she wasn't twenty. Probably closer to forty, truth be told, which was still less than two-thirds of Dave's age. Bloody hell, she was a nurse, alright! What did they used to call them in the old days? Wet nurse!

This was something he'd never been allowed. When their daughter was born, Tamar had turned up her nose at the idea of breast-feeding, sure it would make her boobs sag. He'd sneaked two or three tastes of it, each time being pushed away decisively. In less than a week, her milk had come in and dried up and that was the end of it.

Much more indulgent than homemade biscuits, what this woman, this blessed, dirty saint of a woman was offering. It would be a crying shame to waste it. That's right, he told himself, chubbing up further.

Having been teased about the prospect of drinking from the source, Dave decided to take what he wanted. He reached for the ties of the wrap-around scrubs shirt at Nurse Wendy's side and pulled the ends. He was, after all, very good with his fingers. "Mmm, Mama...."

She didn't wear a bra of any sort. Dave had expected another layer of straps and harnesses but the necessary support and absorbent materials seemed to be built in to the inside of her top. Impressive. As was the rack itself. Dave's mouth watered more than it had over the prospect of cookies.

About then, Wendy suggested in a polite little murmur that they should take this to the bed. Dave heartily agreed, and let himself be helped to his feet and guided the few steps across the thick carpet. He ignored a few cookie crumbs that stuck to the soles of his feet momentarily, watching the gentle sway of pale, round flesh. By now his cock was standing straight out, leaving a small damp spot on the robe's fabric. Dispensing with it entirely as Wendy helped him slip it off his shoulders, Dave smirked slightly at her frank perusal of his naked body. Seeing that sort of hunger for him on a woman didn't exactly leave him unaffected. His glands decided it was a good moment to offer a clear blob of pre-come that fell in a long string from his upturned cockhead. Wendy laughed, "Nice!" ran her forefinger through the drip and stuck it in her mouth, lips fellating the digit. Then she spun around and turned down the covers. He didn't mind that view either. The top of a white lace thong was revealed as she bent over. 

Once on the bed, in the middle of the king-sized, Wendy positioned them both on their sides, facing, then she asked Dave to wiggle down. He would normally take a woman in his arms. This was different, but he still draped his upper arm around her and she didn't protest. Good! She had a fantastic bum, too, and he planned on having a feel of it while he... nursed.

At first he couldn't quite figure out how to get at her, nor how to latch on properly. But she was a professional, after all. Those jugs were full, the skin stretched and taut under the surface, with a faint blue web of veins showing through her pale skin. Dave imagined that those tits were hard for him. The nipples stuck out, dark pink and the length from the tip of his thumb to the far end of the nail with areolas about the same diametre as a shot glass. The tips were leaking a little. Eager to taste, Dave slurped one into his mouth.

And... they squirted! Dave was surprised by the sudden spray of thin milk in his mouth and another on the side of his face. Warm and wet, like pussy only not as slick.

At first, he was a bit too enthusiastic. "Ow! Teeth!" Nurse Wendy slapped at his arm a little. "Be nice, baby Davey!" 

Snorting, Dave eased off and continued to suck. At each pull, the suction drew more liquid. Above him, Wendy sighed. He knew that sound. Relief. Did it hurt her, to be so... full? 

The milk had a strange taste. Not bad, just not what he was used to when it came to milk from a carton. And it was body temperature, rather than hot like coffee or tea. He wondered if women felt the same weirdness about the warmth when they swallowed his come.

They found a rhythm quickly. Dave was more interested in sucking on and playing with those big beautiful titties than efficient nursing. What wasn't between his lips was between his fingers, and he joyfully caressed and kneaded the soft flesh. His lower body followed along, rolling to that rhythm. For the moment, fucking Wendy's thighs, pressing his balls against the crease, satisfied the need to move.

When he thought to glance up, she seemed to be getting into it. Wendy's eyes were closed, rolled back under her lids from the looks of it, lips parted. He pulled off long enough to say, "Very nice, so natural..." Appreciation flowed through him, along with some admittedly sluggish endorphins and of course, the milk. Oh, he was plenty turned on, it was just that the rhythmic sucking and something in this second treat, perhaps the lactose, kept him calm. After some time, he surfaced and found that he was licking all over the sweet flesh. But he had another whole breast to go. What a lucky boy.

He moved to switch. To do that, he'd need a pillow or to fold his arm beneath his head. Instead, Wendy tipped him onto his back. "We can do this like before, on the other side. Unless you prefer to sit up..." 

Unable to envision it, Dave squirmed to turn onto his other side while Wendy climbed over him. They got situated again. Just as he was lulled into the sleepy baby routine again, cool fingers slid down his abdomen and grasped his unabated erection. Oh yes! Now there were two rhythms, three if he counted his own efforts back and forth through the digits wrapped around his fat one.

Well. Definitely nothing childish about this now. Dave gave a few last smacking sucks and resumed kissing and licking the soft flesh, more pliable than before since he'd emptied the mammary glands within. The hand on his cock sped up, kind of disembodied but he couldn't complain about Wendy's grip strength, nor her skill in rolling his foreskin up to and over the fissure under the head as part of her range. It was good, so good and he'd get off eventually but he wanted up into her. She'd let her warmth flow in him; he wanted to put his heat into her. "Want you to ride me!" he groaned.

"Yes, Davey!" The reply was enthusiastic, maybe a bit over-much but Dave was beyond caring. His dick did a little dance and grew a little more. On his back, he looked up expectantly at a now-naked Wendy who poised above him, nipples wet from his tongue but no longer dripping. Too experienced to raise his eyebrows, Dave internally marked a shaved-bare pussy, and a three-inch Iron Maiden tat complete with the Powerslave version of Eddie at the very top of her thigh. Oh dear, a fan-girl. He hoped that if he should ask her to turn around, he wouldn't see his own face inked on one of her buttcheeks.

Through she obviously noticed him looking at the tat, Wendy said nothing beyond a gasp and moan as she took him in. It had been weeks since Dave had had sex with anything but his hand, and she felt glorious. This woman wasn't going to complain about his girth; she flexed around him and moved up and down, tits bouncing before his eyes exactly as he liked it. Writhing and sweating, Dave tried to match her pace. The girl had tricky hips. She gave a little lurch at the bottom of the slide. "Pinch my nipples!" she hissed.

Dave was happy to oblige. Despite her occupation and credentials - which could very well be fake, he made a mental note to Google her - she had held back a degree till now. No longer. She rode him alright, like it was her last opportunity to get fucked in this lifetime and he was the last functioning man on Earth. It had been a while since anyone had been quite so determined to come on his dick. Happy to help and feeling the need to speed up, Dave pushed up into her, chasing that almost pinched feeling around the tip of his penis when he bottomed out. Low moans increased in pitch and frequency and became little squeals with each bounce. "Oh...! Gawd...! Davey...! I'm a squirter!"

Sure, he'd heard such tales but hadn't actually had a woman squirt on him like that. Like spurts, like she ejaculated. Not milk this time... cream. Fresh... and so fucking dirty. Like an animal, something not quite human. Whatever, Dave's penchant for filthy dialogue got the better of him: "You dirty little bitch, you cum like a bloke, you got it on me...!" 

Likely she didn't hear him because, bearing down, Wendy threw her head back and screamed. Her insides spasmed and dripped more thick fluid all around him, coating his balls and slithering down his taint to trickle over his arsehole. Feeling the progress of her orgasmic flood creep over very sensitive areas hair by hair combined with a momentary fear of the management pounding on his door became a shivery thrill. Dave felt it to the bottom of his overflowing testicles, which suddenly couldn't hold back their contents. "Gonna cum!" he groaned, the first shot of his load already halfway up his dick. 

He'd given no thought to a condom. Stupid, he knew, not to carry them anymore. There might be a couple floating at the bottom of his inner suitcase pockets that were years expired. Letting his seed go free up into a fertile woman was a thrill like no other. Yet in back of his mind he hoped the old adage about nursing being birth control was true. Did Wendy have a kid at home? How old? Surely she had to be using a pump to keep up such a supply. Damn, he must be getting old! Dave had never given a passing thought to a... working girl's... personal life before.

The next thing he considered was that his chest hair was wet and slightly sticky. 'Oh bloody hell..." his sex-addled brain lurched. Was he going to see a full set of wedding tackle if he looked down? Then he remembered, and heaved a sigh of dual relief. It was just the milk. 

"Feel good?" asked Wendy. She dismounted gingerly, one more thing for Dave to internally purr about. "You look all in... ready for sleep." 

"Mmmgnnuhsssllllp," Dave mumbled. "Thanks for the... thanks."

Not being the chatty sort, Wendy ducked into the bathroom for a few seconds before managing enough small talk to facilitate cleaning up all the gooey stuff with warm washcloths then getting dressed not being awkward. Once again, the Maiden tat caught Dave's attention through his half-lidded eyes, but as she pulled up her pink scrub pants it was safely hidden and that was that. She smiled, kissed his cheek and bid him good night. Dave properly thanked his nurse but she'd accept no cash, saying it was all taken care of. 

After seeing Wendy out the door, he retreated to sanctity of his bed. The far side of the bed, not his usual side. That, a pale pink business card with black letters, and two untouched cookies were all reminders, as well. 

Mobile in hand, in the dark, Dave surfed for a few minutes. So apparently this was a thing. Who knew? Breast milk, with extra-special nutrients and natural antibodies. Maybe that was part of the reason he was feeling better. 

The next show would be their last in California. Then they'd fly across the US to start a series of shows on the eastern side. Looking at the stiff card one more time, Dave noticed the area code. New York City? What the hell...? There were a lot of possible explanations for that, including a recent move or deliberately choosing a phone service in another region. Still... when they got to New York, he would be calling. 

Lastly, he speed-dialled his bandmate. "Adrian you motherfucker..." 

 

Fin.


End file.
